


Dead Man's Hand

by meils121



Category: Leverage
Genre: Flashbacks, Hurt Eliot Spencer, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury Recovery, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 14:05:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12889500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meils121/pseuds/meils121
Summary: Eliot lets himself slip away, away from the pain and the hurt and everything else.  He finally allows himself to die.--------------An old enemy of Eliot’s threatens everything he cares about.  With Eliot badly injured, it’s up to the team to take this enemy down before they can do any more damage.





	Dead Man's Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This work is for the Leverage Big Bang! 
> 
> You can find the amazing soundtrack by Poppetawoppet here: https://poppetawoppet.dreamwidth.org/1352.html  
> You can also listen to the soundtrack on Soundcloud:  
> https://8tracks.com/poppetawoppet/dead-man-s-hand-left-side-a  
> https://8tracks.com/poppetawoppet/dead-man-s-hand-right-side-b
> 
> A huge thanks to Poppetawoppet for perfectly capturing the emotions of my fic. You rock!
> 
> I'd also like to thank Krizeth and Freckledheart for being awesome betas! 
> 
> Finally, thank you to the mods of the Leverage Big/Mini Bang - I needed a push to write this story, and this was the perfect challenge! You made this a fantastic experience from start to finish!

                                                                       

 

 

           Eliot’s dying.

            He’s been dying for days now, maybe weeks.  He’s been dying since he stopped looking over his shoulder every damn minute.  He’s been dying since he ended his promise to serve and protect and traded it for cold hard cash.  He’s been dying since the day he dropped his football helmet and exchanged it for a rifle.

            But today might be the day he actually dies.

            His blood is pooling on the floor beneath him, a steady _drip-drip-drip_ that’s growing into a larger puddle by the second.  It’s almost a comforting sound, proof that his body still has life in it to give, though Eliot’s growing more and more tired.  There’s a point where you don’t come back from what happens, and he thinks he might be reaching it.

            He’s okay with that.  He’s been a dead man for years now.  He’s cheated death more times than is probably fair.  He’s always figured that he’d either go quickly, a gunshot to the head, or slowly, tortured until his body gives up.  Apparently the second option is going to be the one that actually happens.  

            They caught him some time ago - maybe a few weeks, maybe longer.  Eliot stopped counting time when he realized this was the end.  They shot him in the leg to make sure he wouldn’t be able to escape.  He’d be worried about losing the limb, but there’s no point in that now.  He’ll be dead before it matters.

            They left him alone for six days.  No food.  Just a tiny pitch black cell and his thoughts.  On the seventh day, the torture started.  Eliot’s been tortured before, still bears the scars of the information others tried to extract from him.  It doesn’t make this time any easier.  Time passes, minutes and hours and days blending together in one blur of pain and fear.  He doesn’t know anymore what he might have said.  He wonders if he put Hardison and Parker in danger, but he had put them in danger from the minute he agreed to one more job.  He knew all along that some day, some demon from his past was going to catch up with him.  He doesn’t know yet which demon actually did.  There are too many of them to figure out who it could be.

            He’s faintly aware of the fact that the men are no longer in the room with him.  Maybe they also recognize that Eliot doesn’t have much longer to live and even less to give.  Maybe they don’t want to be around to see the end result of their handiwork.  Maybe they want to remind him that he was always going to die alone.  But Eliot’s always known that.  Men like him - people like him - don’t die surrounded by loved ones.  They die surrounded by guns and darkness, with nothing but their own slowing heartbeat to comfort them.

            There’s a calmness that has taken over Eliot’s mind.  He’s not afraid of dying.  He’s always known he was going to hell, and yeah, it sucks that he won’t be seeing his mama again, but he won’t have to explain to her how her son failed her so badly.  He’s not afraid to fall into the darkness, to close his eyes and listen as his blood falls on the floor, to slip off into the welcoming black nothingness.  

            He’s tired.  He’s lived longer than he ever thought he would, and he’s tired.  Maybe it’s time.

            No, not maybe.  It is time.  He takes a few deep breaths, ignoring the pain that can only be a few broken ribs.  He wants to taste the air one last time, only this air is tinged with the coppery taste of his own blood.  That’s okay.  

            Eliot lets himself slip away, away from the pain and the hurt and everything else.  He finally allows himself to die.

\-------

 

            There’s a strange, steady beeping sound pulling Eliot from the cloud he’s in.  It’s not the sound of his blood dripping on the floor.  It’s more electronic, more rhythmic.  Maybe, an unhelpful part of his mind supplies, hell is filled with annoying sounds.  The beeping continues.  Eliot forces his eyes open, but he can’t see much.  Everything’s blurry and white.  There’s a flash of blonde hair.  

            Eliot’s chest tightens.  What’s his mama doing in hell?  She never did anything bad, not once.  He wants to reach out and touch her.  But his arms are too heavy to lift, and she remains out of reach.  Maybe this is just to show him what he could have had, something to make hell all that much harder to bear.

            “I think he’s waking up.”  A voice says.  It’s not his mama’s voice.  Eliot’s confused.

            The blonde hair moves, comes closer, and a face starts to come into focus.  It’s not his mama.  Thank God.  But as the room comes into focus, Eliot realizes where he is.  It’s a hospital room, stark and clean and dangerous.  He has to get out of here.  No hospitals.  Hospitals are where the police show up when there are suspicious injuries.

            He’s alive, Eliot realizes.  Somehow, he’s alive.  He’s not sure if he’s happy about that or not.  But he can figure it out later.  He needs to get himself somewhere safe.  Adrenaline shoots through his body, making what was previously impossible easy to do.

            He raises one hand, ignores the shooting pain, and rips all of the wires and tubes out of his body.  Someone says something as the machines go crazy, but Eliot’s not listening.  He’s got one focus.  

            He swings his legs over the side of the bed.  Somebody stands in front of him blocking his path, but Eliot knows he can take them.  He knows how to ignore pain.  But when he stands, his body buckles and he collapses on the floor.  Fuck.

            There’s a rush of movement and strange people closing in on him.  Eliot growls, swinging wildly at whoever is closest.  

            “Get away from him!”  The voice is panicked and shrill.  “He’s gonna hurt you.  Get away from him.”

            Someone with some sense.  Eliot turns towards where the voice came from and sees the flash of blonde hair again.  Even if it’s not his mama, he thinks this person must know him.  Blonde hair.  Parker? He didn’t think he’d ever see her again.

            “Parker?”  He croaks out.  His throat is dry.  The movement makes a few drops of blood bead up on his cracked lips.  He can taste copper as he wets his lips.

            “Yeah, Eliot, it’s me.”  The same voice says.  Eliot raises a hand to rub at his eyes, ignoring the pain in his chest the movement causes.

            Parker’s face comes into view.  She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor a few feet from where Eliot is slumped against the hospital bed.  Her face is drawn and tight, lines of worry marking her skin.  She looks like she hasn’t eaten in days.

            “I’m alive?”  Eliot asks.  He wishes he hadn’t when he sees the way Parker’s face just crumples at the words.  

            “You’re alive.”  Parker says.  “You’re alive.”

            “Don’t feel so good.”

            “You’re hurt.”  Parker explains.  “Pretty badly.  We didn’t have a choice, Eliot.  We had to take you here.”

            Here, meaning the hospital.  Eliot grimaces.  Last time he spent any real time in a hospital, it was when his mama was dying.  

            “We didn’t have a choice.”  Parker repeats.  Her hand reaches out, slowly, cautiously, like Eliot might snap it off if she startles him.  But soon enough she’s holding his hand.  It’s strange to feel such a gentle touch after being tortured for so long.

            “We?”  Eliot asks, finally catching on.  “Where’s Hardison?”

            “Right here.”  Hardison comes into view, folding his long legs in so he can fit next to Parker.  

            “Thought I was dead.”  Eliot says by way of explanation.  

            “We did too.”  Parker says.  Maybe it’s too blunt, but Eliot’s grateful she’s not walking around the topic.  He trusts Parker not to hide the truth from him.  If she says something, she means it.  

            “But you’re not.”  Hardison interjects.  

            “Can we get him back on the bed?”  Another voice asks.  Eliot looks up, wild-eyed, ready to fight, but it’s only a nurse.  She raises an eyebrow at him that seems to suggest she’s not taking any excuses.

            “Need help.”  Eliot says.  God, is that painful to admit.  He’s never really needed help before, not like this.  A shoulder to lean on, sure.  But to not even be able to stand up?  That hurts.

            Parker and Hardison help him get upright and guide him back down onto the bed.  There is a sense of relief when his head falls back against the pillows.  This is the most comfortable he’s been since he got captured -

            Speaking of which.  “How long?”

            Hardison shares a glance with Parker, then turns to the nurse.  “We need a few minutes.”  He says.  

            “He needs to be on the IV.”  The nurse insists.  

            “Five minutes.”  Hardison says at the same time Eliot says, “No IV.”

            The nurse frowns but agrees, ushering a doctor and two other nurses from the room.  The door shuts behind them.

            “How long?”  Eliot repeats his question.  He’s desperate to find out the answer.  Scared, too. Scared of what might have happened in his absence.  Scared of what he left Parker and Hardison to do on their own.

            “Two months.”  Parker answers when it becomes clear Hardison is too choked up to say anything.  “As of yesterday.”

            Fuck.  “I’m sorry.”  Eliot says.  He hopes they understand.  He didn’t mean to abandon them, to leave them without protection in a dangerous world.  He didn’t mean to break his promise to Nate.

            “Don’t you dare.”  Parker says.  “We’re sorry we didn’t find you sooner.”

            Find him sooner?  Had they been looking for him?  Eliot looks up, not daring to ask the question.  

            Hardison figures it out.  “Radio silence for three days.  I tracked your phone to the spot where you got shot and grabbed.  Had to call in reinforcements, and about every favor we were owed, so it took forever, but we found you.”

            “Shouldn’t - shouldn’t have risked it.”  Eliot mutters.  

            “You know us better than that.”  Hardison says, sounding almost offended.  And no, Eliot didn’t mean it like that.  He tries to say that.

            “Supposed to protect you.”  He says.

            “We protect each other.”  Parker counters.

            The door opens.  “Five minutes.”  The nurse says.  She bustles around Eliot, reconnecting the IV and checking his vitals.  “And one of you needs to go tell the contingent waiting outside that he’s up.  They’re about ready to break the door down.”

            Eliot frowns.  Who else is here?

            Hardison offers a small smile, the first one Eliot’s seen in a long time.  Two months.  “Nate and Sophie said they’d let us see you first.  And we couldn’t have gotten you back on our own.  Quinn and Shelley and Vance pulled together some black ops shit to get you home.”

            “They did?”  Eliot’s surprised.  

            “People care, Eliot.”  Parker says.  “We wanted to find you.”  Her voice breaks.  “I didn’t want to lose you.”

            “I’m here.”  Eliot says.  Promises.  “I’m not going anywhere.”

            Parker doesn’t answer.  She just settles in at the foot of his bed like she’s his guard.  It makes Eliot feel safe enough to drift off into a drugged sleep.

 

\-----

 

            It’s a private hospital, tucked away on an expansive green lawn and surrounded by a high wall.  Eliot’s not sure if that’s meant to keep people out or patients in.  Nate found it, says that it’s not the type of place that will ask too many prying questions.  Eliot still hates it.

            He hates the wheelchair, too, but at least it’s better than staying on bedrest.  The doctors say things about how he needed to heal, to restore his strength, but they don’t know shit about being tortured.  It’s his mind that’s broken, more than his body.

            That’s not to say that his body’s in great shape.  He nearly did lose the leg - apparently he was rushed to surgery when he arrived - and it’s going to be a long while before he can put proper weight on it again.  So, wheelchair it is.  He’d been shot twice, one right above his knee and again in the meat of his thigh.  That brings the total up to 37 times.  It’s not the bullet wound that still hurts, though.  It’s the infection that set in after he was shot.  He had kept the wound as clean as possible, but that’s not much considering the hellhole he spent the past two months in.

            He’s got more stitches than he can count, holding together the skin that was so easily sliced through by his captors’ knives.  Hardison cries when he sees that the tip of Eliot’s ear has been cut off.  Painful, but not life-threatening.  He’s missing a couple of teeth and he’s got a headache that’s made itself quite at home.  Every inch of him aches.  

            The first day he’s allowed out of bed, Parker pushes his wheelchair out to a little porch.  If he looks away from the building, it’s easy to pretend he’s at some country club.  But there are security guards and nurses when he glances back the other way, a reminder of where he’s stuck for the foreseeable future.

            “Who hired them?”  Eliot asks.  “The men who grabbed me, they wanted information.  Who hired them?”

            Nate is engrossed in a stack of papers and doesn’t answer.  Parker and Hardison look at each other.  It’s finally Sophie who speaks.

            “Did you know Damien Moreau is married?”  She asks.  

            Eliot’s vision goes dark.  He’s falling, rushing through memories that he had locked away for years.  There are gunshots and screams.  Someone’s pleading, begging for their life.  Their words turn into the eerie silence that falls after someone dies.

            “Eliot!”  

            It’s like he’s moving through molasses.  He’s trying to drag himself to the surface, but he doesn’t even know which way that is anymore.  

            “Eliot, come back!”  

            Someone’s talking.  Not Moreau.  Someone else.  They want him to answer.  

            “We can’t have him this upset.”  Another voice.  “We’re going to sedate him.”

            No, no, that’s not good.  He has to stay awake.  How is he going to protect his team if he’s out?  But there’s a sharp pinch, and soon enough the drugs take over.  He’s floating away and his cares fall to the wayside.

            He comes to back in the hospital bed.  He’s alone, strangely enough.  The sensors he’s attached to must let the nurses know he’s awake, because that same nurse from before walks in.

            “Who are you?”  Eliot demands.

            “Megan.”  The nurse says.  “How are you feeling?”  
            “Like I’ve been drugged against my will.”

            That actually gets a smile.  “Fair enough.”

            “Where’re my friends?”  
            “Outside.  I don’t know what they said to you, but it’s not good for your recovery to be that upset.  Your state is still delicate .”

            Eliot has never in his life - not once - been described in any way as delicate.  “The fuck I am.”  He growls.  He pulls the needle of the IV from his arm and tosses it on the floor.  “I’m not having anyone drug me again.”

            Megan raises her eyebrows.  “There go your pain meds.”  

            “I’ve lived through worse.”

            “Doesn’t mean you have to.”

            Eliot doesn’t respond.  Megan picks up the hanging tubes from the IV and holds them up, one last offer for Eliot to change his mind.  He shakes his head, and she puts them away.  They’re both silent as she changes the dressing on one of his wounds.  

            “You’re not kind to your body.”  Megan says after several minutes of silence.  “Why?”

            “Wasn’t my choice.”  Eliot says.

            “Not this.”  Megan waves a hand.  “You’ve got scars that are a decade old.  You’ve been getting hurt, badly, for a long time.”

            “Yeah, I have.”  Eliot says, and that’s the end of the conversation.  Megan finishes patching him back up and leaves.

            It’s late, Eliot realizes, looking out the window.  The sky has taken on that slightly eerie glow it gets when a storm’s rolling in.  

            “I like thunderstorms.”  Parker says.  Eliot startles.  He hadn’t heard her come in.  

            “Hey, Parker.”

            “Why do you get like that?”  Parker asks.  Eliot’s heart aches.  Parker has an ability to ask questions that remind him just how young she is, how innocent she’ll always be.  

            “I’m sick.”  Eliot taps the side of his head.  “Something wrong with me up here from everything I’ve done and seen.”

            “Oh.”  Parker hums.  “Minds are hard to fix.  No one’s ever been able to fix mine.”

            “You’re mind is just fine as it is.”  Eliot says.  “It makes you, you.”

            “And yours doesn’t?”

            “I guess it does.”  Eliot answers.  “But it takes me places, sometimes, takes me back to things that happened years ago but it feels like I’m there.”

            Parker nods like she understands.  Out of everyone, she’s the one who would understand the best, so maybe she’s not just humoring him.

            “Why did that question make you like that, though?”  Parker asks.  “We did the whole job with Moreau, and you didn’t - do whatever it is you just did.”

            “Have a flashback.”  Eliot supplies.  “I did, just not when anyone was around.”

            “Oh.”  Parker says.  “I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t be.  It’s not your fault.”

            Parker shakes her head, her hair flying through the air.  “No, silly.  I meant, I’m sorry you were alone.”

            “Thanks, Parker.”

            Parker rests her chin on her hand and stares at him.  It would be unnerving, but Eliot’s had years of being around Parker, and there’s very little left that she can do that really freaks him out.  So he just waits for her to say what she’s thinking about.  It takes a few minutes.

            “Are you going to get upset again?”  Parker asks.  “I mean, have another flashback?”  
            “Don’t know.”  Eliot says.  He knows what Parker wants to ask - she wants to know why that question was what tipped him over the edge.  He doesn’t have a great answer for that.  He was surprised, sure, but it was more than just that.  There are moments in his life that he wants to forget.  This is one of them.

            “Visiting hours are over.”  Megan reappears in the doorway.  She frowns at Parker, like she’s not sure how she got in the room.  “You’ll have to leave now.”

            That night, Eliot dreams of guns and bodies falling on the ground, of pools of blood and of expensive pearls.  

 

\-----

 

            Time passes, just as slowly as it did when he was being tortured.  The hospital is the exact opposite of the room he was held in, but it doesn’t feel much different.  Eliot hears voices outside his room.  They speak in low tones, careful not to be loud enough for Eliot to understand what’s being said.  

            They’re worried about him.  Eliot knows that.  They don’t want to say anything to him that will trigger another flashback.  Everyone seems to think he’s not yet strong enough to deal with whatever they need to tell him.

            They’re wrong.  Eliot already knows what they want to tell him, has known since Sophie’s question two days ago.  He knows why they asked him that.  It’s not going to get any easier a day or a week or a month from now.  It will never get any easier.  

            He’s been in the hospital a week when he finally has had enough.  

            “You can stop tip-toeing around me.”  He says to Nate.  “You know me better than that.”

            Nate, to his credit, doesn’t try to deny anything.  “We’re worried about you.”  He says.  And yeah, Eliot knows that.  He sees the way Nate’s forehead creases with concern when he sees Eliot wince in pain.  He’s noticed how Sophie’s eyes are all puffy and red, like she’s been crying for days.  He sees the tremble in Hardison’s normally steady hands.  He hasn’t missed how Parker keeps touching him, like she needs to reassure herself he’s real.  

            “We’re a team.”  Eliot says, angrier than he means to.  “You’re not supposed to hide things from me.  I don’t even know how I got out of that place.  Parker’s the only one who’s told me anything.”

            “The doctors -”  Nate starts.

            “Fuck the doctors.”  Eliot growls.  “I mean it, Nate.  Stop hiding shit from me.”

            Sophie lays a hand on his arm.  “It’s a long story.”  She says.  

            “I’ve got all the time in the world.”  Eliot answers.  “I’m stuck here until God-knows-when.”

            “Until you’re better.”  Parker supplies.  “I want you better.”  

            All the anger leaves Eliot at her words.  “I want that too, Parker.”  He says softly.  “But I don’t like being kept in the dark.”

            “Damien Moreau is married to a woman named Gianna Moreau.”  Nate says suddenly.  Eliot grimaces at the name.  It’s not exactly one of his favorites.  “We apparently have been on her radar since that job in San Lorenzo.  But we’re having a hard time figuring out why.”

            The blanks start to fill in for Eliot.  He starts to remember what his torturers wanted from him.  Names.  Locations.  The jobs he had been a part of.

            “I wasn’t-”  Eliot stops.  How does he tell his team about a secret he’s been keeping for a long time?  A secret that he should have told them years ago, back when they pulled the job in San Lorenzo and locked Moreau up.  “Was she there?”

            “At the warehouse?”  Hardison asks, looking surprised.  Ah, so that’s where they had taken him.  “No, man.  Just a bunch of guys armed to the teeth.”

            Of course not.  Gianna was never one to get her hands dirty.  

            “There’re things I need to tell you.”  Eliot says.  “Please just listen, okay?  I can’t go through this more than once.”

            His friends - his family - nod one-by-one in understanding, and Eliot takes a deep breath.  Part of him wants to claim he’s not strong enough to do this.  But he can’t do that.  Not anymore.  He’s caused enough worry.

            “Gianna was the brains behind everything Moreau did.  She was the one we all really feared.  Moreau, he was always in it for the money.  Not Gianna.  She liked seeing the damage she could cause, the hurt that she could bring.  It was a business partnership more than a marriage.  Last I heard - and this was maybe four years ago - Gianna was in Russia, working with an arms dealer.”

            “There’s someone worse than Moreau?”  Sophie asks.

            “How come I’ve never heard of her?”  Hardison demands to know.

            Eliot shrugs, then wishes he hadn’t when his still healing bones complain.  “Because she didn’t want you to.  Moreau - he’s smart, but he’s flashy.  Gianna knows how to stay in the shadows.  I worked for Moreau for a year before I even knew she existed.”

            He remembers their first meeting.  It was in Croatia.  Moreau had a house there that he would go to when things got a little heated.  Moreau used to invite his men to dinner sometimes, a sort of twisted thank you for gunning down my competition type of deal.  Eliot had shown up and there she was, elegant and beautiful and radiating danger.  She wore the type of expensive jewelry that men bought for their wives when they had too much money and knew too little about their so-called significant other.  She had taken one look at Eliot from across the table.  

“Your talents are wasted with my husband.”  He can still remember the click of her nails as she tapped on the table.  “They won’t be wasted working for me.”

            And Eliot - Eliot had been ready to die back then.  Hadn’t thought about killing himself, not really, but he hadn’t wanted to work for Moreau any longer.  And there wasn’t a way to quit working for a man like Moreau.  You worked until you died or were caught.  That’s how it went.  But here was this woman offering him an out, and maybe if he had been a little smarter about it, thought things through a little more, maybe then he would have realized he was only getting in deeper.  But he had been young and desperate and stupid.  He hadn’t thought.

            He tells his team this.  He tells them about the jobs he pulled for Gianna.  How it didn’t take  him long to realize he had become an actual monster.  

            “How did you get away?”  Parker asks quietly.  

            “I went to Moreau.  Told him that it was either he and Gianna let me walk away or that I was taking them out too.  I should have killed them when I had the chance.”

            Silence.  Eliot knows that he’s revealing the dark side of himself, the part he has to try and live with every day of his life and wishes he doesn’t.  The part he tries to keep away from his team.  The part of his mind that remembers the names and the looks in eyes when men realized that they had only seconds to live.  

            “You threatened Moreau.”  Nate says slowly.  “You threatened to kill Moreau if he didn’t let you go?  How did you walk away from that conversation?”

            “Moreau - he cared about me, in this twisted way.  I was as close as he was ever going to get to someone he could trust.  He knew I meant it.  I mean, that’s my guess at least.”

            “And Gianna?  What did she do?”

            “She sent some guys after me, but I was better than them.  Told them they could either tell Gianna I was off limits or I’d kill them to send the message.”  Eliot wishes he didn’t have to have this conversation.  “Most of them were reasonable.”

            “Most?”  Parker echoes.  She meets Eliot’s gaze and frowns.  “Sorry.  I won’t ask.”  
            “Thanks.”  Eliot says.  He can’t fall down that particular rabbit hole.  

            “Then what?”  Hardison asks.  “I mean, so you walked away from the Moreaus.  What did you do next?”

            “Retrieval work, mostly.  Connected with some old buddies from special ops and did some work with them.  You know the rest.  I honestly thought Gianna had forgotten about me.  It’d been so long.”

            “Right.”  Nate says.  He sets down a folder full of security cam photos.  “Well, she hadn’t.  Any ideas why?”

            “No.”  Eliot says.  “I’m still trying to piece together what they got out of me in there.  It’s all foggy.  They wanted to know about the jobs I pulled with you guys.  But other than that, I have no clue.”

            Nate slides a photo over.  “Hardison managed to hack into the cameras Gianna used to watch them torture you.”  
            Eliot doesn’t let him finish.  He turns to Hardison, panic rising in his chest.  “You watched?”  He asks.  “No, Alec, you shouldn’t have seen that.  Why would you do that?”

            “Eliot-”

            “No, I mean it.  I never wanted to drag you all into my old life.”  

            Things are getting fuzzy again.  Eliot feels an overwhelming, crushing wave of guilt.  He can’t breathe from beneath it.  

            “I don’t want to talk anymore.”  Eliot says, ignoring whatever it is that Hardison is trying to say.  He’s not strong enough to hear this.  He wheels his chair towards the door, where one of the nurses takes control and pushes him back to his room.  

            Megan - who is apparently his assigned nurse - appears just as Eliot is getting back into bed.  He probably should ask for help doing this, but he’s steadfastly refused all offers of assistance.  

            “You booked it out of there.”  She says calmly as she hands him his afternoon round of meds.  “Everything okay?”  
            Eliot glances over at her.  “No offense, but I don’t know you and I don’t feel like talking much anyways.”

            “None taken.”  Megan says, like she deals with grumpy shits like Eliot all the damn time.  Maybe she does.  Nate chose this place for a reason, after all.  “Just figured I’d ask.”

            “Thanks.”  Eliot says, a little less harshly.  “Just a bad day.”

            “You seem to have a lot of those.”  Megan says as she leaves the room.  Eliot swallows.  The truth of the words cut into him like a knife.  

            Eliot falls into yet another restless sleep.  He tosses and turns all night, his slumber plagued by the horrors he went through at the hands of Gianna’s men and what his team might have seen.  

            He wakes up from one of his nightmares, too frightened of closing his eyes again to go back to sleep.  The clock on his bedside table says it’s just after three in the morning.  He turns, trying to get comfortable, when he realizes there’s someone else in the room.

            “If you’re here to kill me, please just get the damned thing over with.”  Eliot says.  

            “I risked my life to rescue you, asshole.”  Shelley says.  “Why would I kill you?”

            He steps closer to Eliot’s bed, finally taking a seat right next to him.

            “What are you doing here?”

            “Sophie called me.  Said I needed to talk some sense into you.”

            “What?”

            Shelley sighs.  “Look, man, you didn’t give them a chance to explain.  As soon as Hardison saw what was going on, he called me and Quinn.  I was the one who watched those tapes of you getting tortured.  Quinn and I made sure that your team didn’t see a single second of it.”

            Eliot’s at a loss for words.  He finally settles on one.  “Thanks.”  He says, hoping Shelley understands how much meaning there is behind it.  “Appreciate you looking out for them.”

            Shelley nods.  “I knew you wouldn’t want them to see that shit.”

            “Do you have the tapes?”  

            “Why?”

            Eliot snaps, frustrated.  “Why do you think?  I need to make sure I didn’t say anything that would compromise the team or anyone else.  I - I’m scared what I might have said.  I don’t remember.  The last few days are a total blank in my mind.”

            “Will you trust me if I tell you what happened?”  Shelley asked.  “Believe me, Spencer, you don’t want to see yourself get sliced up.”

            “I-”  Eliot stops.  He’s suddenly exhausted, the weight of everything that has happened making it hard to breathe.  “You’re probably right.”

            “Good.”  Shelley says, standing up.

            “Where are you going?  I thought you were going to tell me what I said on the tapes.”

            “After you get some sleep.”  Shelley responds.  “You need it, okay?  Actually take the time to get better, okay?”

            He leaves, the door closing behind him with a soft thud.  Eliot tries to think through what Shelley just said, but he’s too tired.  This time, he falls into a dreamless sleep.

            Shelley’s not in the room when Eliot wakes up, but Quinn is. And really, it’s messing with Eliot’s instincts to have such dangerous guys - even ones he mostly trusts - watching over him when he sleeps.

            “What the fuck is with you two sneaking in while I’m sleeping?”  He grouses.  

            “You could be a little more grateful.”  Quinn says.  “Not only did I get you out of that hellhole, I’ve been sitting in this damn plastic chair for the past hour.”

            “Thanks.”  Eliot says.  “For rescuing me, I mean.  No one asked you to sit in the chair.”

            “Shelley said you wanted to know what was on the tapes.”  Quinn says.  “What you said when you were tortured.”

            “Yeah.”  Eliot says.  “I need to know how much danger I put the team in.”

            “I’m not gonna lie to you, man.  You gave away some details.  But nothing that Gianna couldn’t have found out by keeping tabs on the team.”  Quinn says.

            “Shit.”

            “Could be worse.”  Quinn says, like Eliot telling one of the most dangerous people in the world all about how he takes down people like her is no big deal.

            “How?”

            “You didn’t say a word about where the rest of the team was.  Not a single word.  There’s no mention of the brew pub, or any of your addresses.  Nothing was compromised there.”

            “Really?”

            “Really.”  Quinn confirms.  “So we good?  You believe me?”

            “Yeah, I believe you.”  Eliot says.  

            “Good.  Can you promise Sophie that you won’t watch the tapes?  She’s a bit of a mess over the idea that you’re gonna watch yourself get tortured.”

            “I won’t watch them.”  Eliot says.  “I want them destroyed.”

            Quinn stands and gives him a half-smile.  “Already done.”  He says.  “Shelley and I weren’t too crazy about the idea of you watching them either.”  

            With that, he leaves the room.  Eliot’s left speechless, though there are plenty of words he’d like to yell out at Quinn’s back.  

           

 

\------

 

            Hardison lays out five photos on the table.  “Recognize these guys?”

            “They’re the bastards that tortured me.”  Eliot says.  He taps the middle photo.  “He was the main guy.  They all listened to whatever he had to say.  But I don’t know names.”

            “Please.”  Hardison says, like he’s insulted.  “I know names, birthdays, even what type of flowers they send their mamas.”

            “Guys like these don’t send flowers.”

            “Nah, but they do send a lot of texts.”  Hardison says.  He spins his laptop around so they can all see the screen.  “All burner phones, but I tracked the locations.  Five of the phones were around LA - that’s where you were, by the way.  Had to haul ass down there to get you.”

            Eliot nods.  He knew that he had lost a big chunk of time between getting shot and dragged into the van and waking up in that hellhole.  Figures it was in LA.  He’s never had a whole lot of luck in that city.

            “But I tracked one of them to Las Vegas before the phone was dumped.  I’m figuring that’s the number that Gianna used.”  Hardison pulls up a security camera.  “This is the Venetian on the Vegas strip.  Taken yesterday.  And that-”

            “Is Gianna.”  Eliot finishes.  On screen, an elegantly dressed woman is stepping out of a car and walking towards the hotel doors.  Behind her are two large bodyguards.  

            “There’s a deal happening soon.”  Hardison says.  “Weapons for diamonds, and you bet Gianna’s in the middle of it.  That’s why she’s there.”

            “So we’re going to Vegas?”  Parker asks.  “We’ve never pulled a job there.”

            “Why is that?”  Sophie asks, turning to Nate.  “Las Vegas is the perfect place for thieves.”

            “Too many cameras.”  Nate and Hardison say at the same time.  

            Eliot frowns.  “You aren’t leaving me here.”  He warns.  “I’m not sitting around while you guys take her down.”

            “You can’t even stand.”  Sophie points out.

            “I don’t care.  Leave me in Lucille with Hardison.  I’m not letting you guys try anything around Gianna without me.”

            “Wouldn’t dream of it.”  Nate said.  He’s got that shifty-eyed look he gets when he’s coming up with a plan.  It used to make Eliot nervous, back when they first started working together.  And, to be honest, sometimes it still scares him.  “But you’re grounded once we’re there.  Shelley and Quinn already agreed to help out.”

            It’s better than being left in this damn hospital any longer, so Eliot doesn’t put up a fight.  He’ll get Hardison to set up the cameras so he can at least watch what’s going on.

 

\-------

 

            Las Vegas is, unsurprisingly, hot.  After years spent in Portland, the heat and the dry air is a bit of a shock to Eliot’s system.  So, too, is the fact he’s still in the damned wheelchair.

            “I can walk.”  He says, not for the first time, as they head out of the airport.  

            “No, you can’t.”  Hardison says.  “We’ve tried, remember?”

            And that’s true.  Yesterday, Eliot had ignored the advice of his doctor and tried walking.  It ended up with him sprawled on the floor and in more pain than he’d like to admit.

            “Give me crutches, then.”  He grouses.  “This is embarrassing.”

            “I’m so glad you don’t get sidelined more often.”  Hardison says.  “You are a grump, man.”

            “I was shot, tortured, and left for dead.”  Eliot hisses at him.  “You go through that and try being a little sunshine.”

            “Imma leave your wheelchair in the middle of the desert.”  Hardison grumbles.

            “Don’t joke about that.”  Parker says quietly.  Her hand appears on Eliot’s shoulder, squeezing just tight enough that Eliot knows she’s proving to herself he’s  really here.  

            Hardison and Eliot eye each other.  “Sorry.”  They say at the same time.  Parker’s taken this whole thing the hardest.  No one will really talk to Eliot about what happened while he was gone other than to tell him how they worked his rescue.  But he knows Parker, knows that she struggled when Nate and Sophie left even though she knew they were fine.  Eliot disappearing like he did was bound to have messed up her sense of safety.  It’s just another bit of guilt that eats away at him every day.  

            Las Vegas traffic is ten times worse than Portland traffic.  It takes too damn long to get through the city and to the Venetian.  When they pull up in front of the casino, Eliot’s reminded immediately why he’s always hated Vegas.

            Hulking security guards stand just inside the doors to the lobby.  Cameras wink out of every corner, tracking every movement.  The people flowing in and out of the doors are a mixture of clueless tourists, gambling addicts, and people with too much money on their hands to notice when a million dollar hand goes the wrong way.  It’s a dangerous mix, volatile and unpredictable.  From a security standpoint, it’s a situation Eliot would like to be far away from.  Especially given that he can’t even stand up without needing somebody to help him, let alone fight.

            He’s also spent way too much time in places like these when he did retrieval work.  For reasons he’s never quite been able to figure out, people bring a lot of expensive shit to casinos.  He’s never actually stolen from a casino - like, breaking into a vault stealing - but he’s definitely retrieved items that were located at casinos.  There is a difference.  At least, that’s what Parker tells him.  He thinks it’s because she wants to be the only one on the team who’s ever actually stolen from a casino.

            Parker sighs when they walk into the lobby.  “I love places like this.”  She says, doing a little spin right in the middle of the room.  “They smell like money.”

            And that’s hard to argue with.  Casinos may reek of danger to Eliot, but they also reek of money, of people betting everything they have, of cash exchanging hands in a way that no thief can resist.  

            It’s easy to get distracted in a place like this.

            Nate checks them in under brand-new aliases Hardison created.  They’re on the 21st floor.  Hardison told them earlier Gianna was in one of the top-floor penthouses.  Nothing but the best for her.

            There are ground rules in a place like this.  Hardison’s not allowed to count cards.  Parker’s not allowed in the casino, period, unless someone else is there keeping an eye on her.  They have a very particular job to complete.  Eliot’s warned them all that Gianna won’t play around.  The moment she figures out they’re here - and that moment will come, sooner or later - she’ll be prepared to destroy them any way she can.  There’s no room for distractions.  Not here.  Not with Gianna nearby.

            Parker flops on the bed.  “This is torture.”  She says.  Then she sits up and gasps.  “Shit.  Sorry, Eliot.”

            Eliot laughs, actually laughs, for the first time since before he was tortured.  Leave it to Parker.  “No worries.”  He reassures her.  He knows what she means.  Places like this make a thief’s blood sing with promises of the job of a lifetime.  It’s hard to resist.

            Hardison spends the next few hours setting up his system, hacking into the hotel’s security system and finding every little detail they’re going to need.  Parker, being Parker, falls asleep after just a few minutes.  

            “We are going to take her down.”  Hardison says.  It’s been nearly 20 minutes of quiet, just the sound of his fingers on the keyboard and the steady hum of his computers.  

            “Thanks.”  Eliot says.  They haven’t talked much since his rescue.  Eliot doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to say.  

            “Why didn’t you tell us about her when we took down Moreau?”

            And that’s the question that Eliot’s been dreading.  He basically lied to the team, omitting the very dangerous reality that he was even more acquainted with Moreau and his wife than he’d told the team all those years ago.  

            “There’s a lot of things I haven’t told you.”  Eliot says.  

            “I know.”  Hardison says, and Eliot knows he’s telling the truth.  Knows that of everyone on the team, Hardison knows his past better than anyone.  Knows the files the hacker must have seen.  

            “When we went after Moreau, all I wanted was to keep you guys safe.  I - I never wanted to involve any of you in my past.  Guess that was wishful thinking.”  Eliot says.  “I did bad things for Moreau.  Things that I’ll never forgive myself for.  I’m going to hell, Hardison, and I didn’t want to drag the rest of you down with me.”

            Hardison snorts.  “We’re thieves.”  He reminds him.

            “And I’m a killer.”  

            Hardison falls silent.  The words hang between them, threatening to tear everything apart.  They’re all bad guys, but Eliot knows he’s a _bad guy._  There’s a difference.  It’s the reason he’s never quite allowed himself to fully connect with Hardison and Parker the way his heart wants to.

            “I know.”  Hardison finally says.  “I’ve known since our second job.”  He finally spins around in his chair so he’s looking at Eliot.  “You’re not that man anymore.  I get that’s who you used to be, and I’m not saying you were a good guy.  But you’re thief-Eliot now.  You’ve been him for a long time.”

            And that’s true.  It’s just that sometimes Eliot is scared that do-anything-for-money-Eliot will resurface.  

            “I didn’t want to admit everything I had done.”  Eliot says.  “If I told you guys about Gianna, you’d think I was a monster.  I didn’t like who I was when I was working for her.  I lost a piece of myself then, and I’m never going to get it back.”

            “I wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t see something else in you.”  Hardison says.  “Will you just believe me on that?  Me and Parker, we care about you.  We get that there are things you don’t want to tell us.  But that shouldn’t mean you close yourself off completely.”

            He’s right, of course, because Hardison’s probably the best out of all five of them with feelings.  But that doesn’t make it any easier to do what he says.  And yet Eliot knows he owes it to him to try.  

            “I didn’t tell any of you about Gianna because I was scared of what you would think.  And I was scared that we wouldn’t be able to take down Moreau if I said anything about his wife.  Gianna wasn’t anywhere near Moreau at the time.  I thought I could keep it separate from what we were doing.”

            “That - makes sense.”  Hardison says.  

            “Yeah, well, it backfired on me.”  Eliot says.  

            “What do you mean?”

            “I should have known that Gianna would come after me eventually.  She’s always been one to hold a grudge.”

            “We seem to attract a lot of people like that.”  Hardison says, and he lets the subject drop.  Eliot’s grateful for the return to silence.  

           

 

\-------

 

            The team isn’t pulling this job alone.  They can’t - there’s too big a risk that Gianna will figure out what’s going on.  Plus, of course, there’s the fact that Eliot is about as much help as a toddler when it comes to protecting them.  

            Shelley arrives first, followed soon after by Quinn.  They’re taking Eliot’s place, and it’s hard to accept he’s not going to be the one protecting his team.  Eliot’s very particular about making sure his team is safe.

Tara arrives next, in her usual style.  She’s followed by Maggie.  Eliot likes Maggie a whole lot more than he likes Tara.  He still hasn’t quite forgiven the grifter for pulling that stunt when they first met.

Eliot knows they’re lucky.  Lucky to have people who will drop what they’re doing to come to their rescue.  To his rescue.  He just doesn’t like to owe favors, but the way things are going, he’s going to owe a whole damn party by the time this is over.  

Hardison sits them all down in the suite’s gigantic living room.  On the TV is the photo of Gianna entering the Venetian.  “Gather round.”  He says over the noise of Sophie, Tara, and Maggie laughing about something or other.  Eliot’s not exactly in a laughing mood.  Shelley pats him on the shoulder as they head towards the couch.  

            “We got this.”  He says.  “Remember that arms dealer in Colombia?  This can’t be any harder.”

            Eliot manages a half-smile.  “That guy was halfway to death already.  Gianna’s going to be tough.”

            Shelley shrugs.  He’s got the experience that Eliot has, the intimate knowledge of what death looks like.  To him, Gianna’s just another in a long list of bad guys he has to take down.  Eliot hopes it will be as easy as Shelley thinks.  He knows it won’t be.

            “Gianna Moreau is in Vegas for an arms deal.”  Hardison says once he has everyone’s attention.  “We don’t know why she chose the Venetian - or if there was a reason - but she’s here.  The deal is supposed to go down within the next two weeks.”

            “So that’s the plan?  Just figure out when the deal is happening and call the cops?”  Quinn asks, bored.

            “Not exactly.”

            Nate takes over.  “Chances are, Gianna has policemen in her payroll from the local force.  We need to go higher.  The FBI will be the ones investigating if the casino is robbed.”

            And that - that’s what Eliot loves and hates about Nate.  The man doesn’t let a little issue like police corruption bother him.  He also doesn’t think small.  A proper job at a casino takes months of planning and surveillance.  Not - this.

Unless… “Nate, how long have you been planning a job here?”  

Nate just raises an eyebrow.  “The owner had ties to Moreau.  I thought it might be a way to get to him, back before we took him down.  I already had a plan.  It just needed to be updated.”

“What kind of ties?”

“Money laundering.”

            That’s not a surprise.  Casinos, with their constant flow of cash and people, are a good place to exchange dirty money for clean.  

            “So what, we’re pulling some Ocean’s 11 shit?”  Quinn asks.  

            “Only kind of.”  Nate turns to Hardison, who pulls up a floor plan of the casino.  

            Parker claps her hands.  “Let’s go steal a casino!”  She says excitedly.  “Ooh, do I get to break into the vault?  I’m good at vaults.  And this place doesn’t have -”

            “No.”  Nate says, cutting her off before she can get too excited about the casino’s security system.  “No vaults.  We’re going to do things a little different.  We’re going to convince the casino that Gianna has sent us to ruin them.”

            “How?”

            Nate just grins.  “How well can you count cards?”

 

\-------

 

            “This is too easy.”  Parker says.  Eliot can hear the frown in her voice, the disappointment that there’s not more of a challenge.  “I could wipe them clean and they probably wouldn’t even notice.”

            “That’s not the point, Parker.”

            “I know.”  Parker says, and it’s not a frown Eliot can hear - it’s a pout.  Parker doesn’t like when she has to purposely be bad at something.  It goes against her instincts.  At least, that’s what she told Nate yesterday when he went over the plan.

            Eliot doesn’t particularly like this plan.  It’s probably the only way they’re going to be able to even have a chance at taking down Gianna, but it relies a lot on chance.  Which, to be fair, is appropriate for a casino job.  

            That’s why he’s insisted on being on comms the entire time.  He wants to know exactly what is happening, wants to be able to direct Quinn to where he needs to be in case the other hitter misses some little clue.  It’s not likely - Quinn trained at the side of the same men Eliot did - but Eliot’s not about to take that chance.  He may not be able to physically protect his team, but he’s not about to abandon them.  

            “Did you think about us?”  Parker asks.  

            Eliot’s used to out-of-thin-air questions from Parker.  He’s also adjusted to the way his team has tried to carefully talk about what happened to him without flat out asking if he was okay.  They already know that his answer would be that he’s fine.  Still, it’s a little jarring.  

            “Focus, Parker.”

            “I am focusing.”  Parker says.  “So?  Did you think about us?”

            “Yes.”  Eliot says, because of course he did.  

            He thought about Parker’s laugh, about Hardison’s smile.  He thought about the way Nate accepted who he was.  He thought about the way Sophie had wiggled her way into his life, pushing and prodding at feelings he never really wanted to explore, and somehow making him feel better anyways.  He had missed all of that.  He wanted to be annoyed by Parker’s chocolate-fueled antics.  He wanted to argue with Hardison about why World of Warcraft and the rest of the shit he played was dumb.  

            He wanted to feel a gentle human touch again.  

            Eliot feels himself getting a bit choked up.  He had been ready to die, back at the warehouse.  He hadn’t been ready to say goodbye to his family.  

            “Sorry.”  Parker says when Eliot doesn’t say anything else.  

            “Don’t worry about it, Parker.”  he responds.  “I missed you guys.”

            “Yeah.”  Parker says.  “We missed you too.”  She pauses.  “I’m glad you’re back.”

            “Me too.”

            The conversation between them fades into silence.  Somehow, Eliot feels a bit better.  Parker’s got a way of doing that.  It’s probably because she’s the one most like Eliot.  They’ve both been really messed up by other people.  There’s a certain kind of kinship, of understanding, between them that most people would never get.  It’s formed from the knowledge that the world is a dark and scary place, and that when you find someone good, you hang onto them with everything you have.  

            “Okay, I’m going in.”  Parker says.  The comms have started picking up the noise of the casino floor, the steady hum of people and slot machines and winning and losing.  

            “Parker’s in view.”  Quinn says over comms.  

            “Is Hardison in place?”

            “Yeah.  We’re all good to go.”

            Eliot turns to the monitors so he can watch what’s happening.  He knows it’s time to be quiet and let the team do their jobs, as hard as that is to let happen.  He doesn’t like being out of the action.  It’s painful.  Now he knows why Parker was so grumpy when she got hurt.  

            Things go off without a hitch, though, like Shelley had promised they would.  Shelley slaps Eliot on the back and tells him to relax.  They both know that there’s no such thing as being relaxed when you live in the world they do, but it’s a nice thought.  Eliot still goes to sleep that night with a knife under his pillow and another within reach on the bedside table.

 

\-------

 

            Eliot’s still weak.  As much as he hates to admit it, it’s true.  Even sitting up gets exhausting after a while.  The world is brighter and louder and all around _more_ than what it was back at the warehouse.  It’s an adjustment, one that Eliot hasn’t quite fully made.  

            He doesn’t want to be alone though.  A part of him never wants to be alone again.  He spent too much time alone in the warehouse, the dragging hours in between being tortured.  Too much time to think.  Too much time to mourn.

            Luckily, Parker and Hardison don’t ask too many questions when he asks them to stay in his room.  Actually, Parker doesn’t ask any at all.  She just curls up at his side and plays with his hair.  He hasn’t cut his hair since being rescued.  Hasn’t shaved, either.  God, no wonder everyone's so worried about him.  

            Hardison is Hardison, and he won’t let the time pass in complete silence.  He’s sitting in a chair nearby, playing a game on his laptop.  Eliot’s grateful for the breathing room.  He’s used to Parker not quite getting personal space, but he’s not sure what his mind is telling him about Hardison.  He knows what his heart is saying, but it’s been a long time since he just went with his heart.  

            “I’m weak.”  Eliot says, annoyed at Hardison’s latest question of how he’s doing.

            Hardison shakes his head.  “You’re the strongest person I know.”  He replies.  “Not many people could go through what you did and still be - you.”

            Eliot sighs.  “I’m not, Hardison.  You never met the kid I used to be.”

            “But I know the man you are.”  Hardison says.  “And you - you’re sadder, sure, but you aren’t different from who you were two months ago.  I thought you’d be angry that it took us so long to rescue you, or that you’d be scarred beyond recognition, or - something.  I don’t know.”

            “I’d never be angry at you.”  Eliot chokes out.  “Not like that.”  He falls silent for a minute.  “I thought it was my time to die.  I just wanted to say goodbye to you guys.  Wanted to tell you -”

He pauses, not sure how to say the words that need to be said.  The words that kept him alive and functioning all that time he was being tortured.

            It turns out that he doesn’t need to say them.  Parker leans against him, her chin resting on his shoulder.  “We love you too, Eliot.”

            And that - that cuts deeper than any knife ever will.  Parker’s got a way with words - a way of just saying the simplest damn thing and making it sound impossible, a way of taking the hardest things ever and making them sound like a walk in the park.  Eliot isn’t sure where this one falls.

            “Parker -”  Eliot takes a deep breath.  He wants to do right by Parker and Hardison, wants to prove - mostly to himself - that he’s still a proper Southern gentleman when it comes down to it.  “Alec?”

            Hardison puts down the laptop and walks over to the bed.  Parker’s still propped on Eliot’s shoulder.  Eliot takes Hardison’s hand in his, leans his head against Parker’s.  Lets himself bask in the feeling of love and family and safety.

            “I love you.”  He says.  And maybe they did things backwards, but that’s okay.  It’s not like their lives are exactly on the straight and narrow.  

            Hardison smiles, and maybe that’s not exactly a rare thing, but this is the smile Eliot’s only ever seen directed at Parker, and now it’s directed at both of them.  “We were just waiting for you.”  He says.

            And that - that’s more than Eliot knows how to process.  He breaks down, happy tears mixing with gutted sobs.  How long has he forced away happiness just to keep them safe?  

            Hardison makes an alarmed little sound, but Parker just shakes her head, her hair hitting Eliot’s face, and curls up a little closer.  It takes a minute, but Hardison joins them on the bed, his soft hands cradling Eliot’s calloused ones.

            Eliot hasn’t felt a touch like this in a long time.  Not just while he was being tortured - long before that.  He’s slept around, sure, woken up wrapped around a beautiful girl, but this is something else entirely.  

            Eliot doesn’t know what to say.  Doesn’t know what to do.  So he closes his eyes and leans into the touch of the people he trusts the most.  And it wasn’t all that long ago that it would have been one of the scariest things he’s ever done.  Now, though, it just feels right.

 

\--------

 

            The casino vault is located behind a maze of locked doors, armed guards, and the type of high-tech security that Hardison daydreams about.  It looks impossible, but when Tara and Sophie team up, nothing is impossible.  Not really.  Things may explode- and have done before- , but they get the job done.  

            “Your eyebrows are on crooked.”  Tara tells Sophie.  

            “These are my real eyebrows.”  Sophie snaps back.  

            “There’s nothing real about you.”  Tara rolls her eyes dramatically.  

            Nate just raises an eyebrow and does that stupid little smirk of his, the one that Eliot occasionally still wants to punch off his face.  “Yes there is.”  

            Hardison groans.  “Stop right there.”  He begs.  

            Eliot tunes them out.  He’s lounging on the couch, leg propped up on the coffee table.  Maggie sits next to him, sending him little worried looks that Eliot pretends not to see.  It’s not that he doesn’t like Maggie - he does, actually.  She reminds him sometimes of his sister.  It’s just that Maggie, like Sophie, does that motherly look of concern so well, and he doesn’t like explaining for the hundredth time that day that he’s a-fucking-okay.

            Eventually the room empties out, leaving Hardison and Eliot behind.  They haven’t actually talked all that much since the other night, when Eliot was finally brave enough to say the words he’s been thinking about for a long time.  

            “You think this is gonna work?”  Eliot asks.  It’s not the question he really wants to ask - _Do you think I’m ever going to be free of Gianna?_ \- but it’s better than silence.

            Hardison spins around in his chair.  “We always manage, right?  Plus, we took down Moreau.  We can take down his wife.”

            Eliot wishes he had the amount of faith Hardison does, but faith is something that died in him a long time ago.  “Yeah.”  He says, because that’s the answer Hardison’s looking for.  “You’re right.”

            The hacker isn’t fooled.  “We’ve got this.”  He says, voice steady and even.  “We do.”

            Eliot manages a small smile.  “Thanks.”  

            “We’re family.  That’s what family does.”

            Eliot nods, even though Hardison has already spun back around.  He knows that’s what family does.  He’s always done it for his team.  It’s just that he’s never been the one that needs the help, not like this.  It’s a weird feeling.

There are no explosions this time, just some very confused guards and an exuberant Parker who shrieks over comms.  “They don’t even have lasers in the laundry chute!”  

Eliot doesn’t bother asking why she’s climbing the laundry chute.  He’s learned that those are questions you just don’t ask.  

            Hardison tells Eliot to pull up a chair, and he does, hobbling over so he can sit next to the younger man and watch the action on the computer.  

            Things go sideways, as they occasionally do, about twenty minutes in.  Eliot sees it happening, but there’s nothing he can do about it.  The image of a gun pointed right at Sophie isn’t a new one - it’s a hazard in their line of work -, but this is the first time Eliot has been completely unable to do anything to help.  He’s not even on comms right now.  

            He’s vaguely aware that things aren’t right, that he’s yelling at Hardison to do something, to put him on comms, or get Shelley and Quinn to Sophie, just _do something right now!_  

More than that, though, Eliot’s aware of the way his heart is trying to pound its way out of his chest, the way his lungs can’t seem to get in enough air, the way that the room around him is starting to feel less and less real.  

            There’s a gun pointed at him now.  He can’t focus on the figure holding it, but he knows it’s one of Gianna’s men.  The one from the warehouse, the one who cut the tip of his ear off.  Panic takes hold, gripping his chest with icy fingers.  Maybe they’re going to cut more off, send a whole ear or a finger to his team as a message.  He doesn’t want that to happen.  Doesn’t want Alec and Parker to go through that terror.  

            Eliot swings at the gun.  His hands are free, he thinks.  When did that happen?  Not that it matters.  He can get away now, fight his way out of this awful place.  He braces himself on the chair.  His leg is bad, he remembers.  That’s okay.  Once he gets out of here, he can fix it.  But then the gun is leveled at his head again, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get away.  Handcuffs bind his arms to a sturdy chair.  There’s no escape.

            “Eliot!  Come on, man, stay with me.”

            That’s Hardison’s voice.  Did they capture Hardison too?  He doesn’t remember.  Maybe Hardison is here to rescue him.  But there’s a gun.  Hardison isn’t good with guns.  

            “Get down.”  Eliot orders.  “I’ll distract them while you get out.”  

            “There’s no one else here.”  Hardison sounds weird.  Desperate.  But he needs to listen.  Eliot can fight.  Hardison needs to get to safety.  Needs to go take care of Parker.

            Eliot tries to stand, but his leg buckles under him.  He cries out in pain and is too far gone to realize he’s the one who made that noise.  He’s frantic now.  How is he supposed to fight when he can’t move?  

            Hands are on his body unexpectedly, gripping his arms.  “Holy shit, Eliot, come back.  You’re in Vegas.  Not - not wherever the hell you think you are.  We’re safe.”

            The room doesn’t feel as fuzzy anymore.  There are lights, Eliot realizes, bright lights that the warehouse doesn’t have.  He blinks a few times.  His heart's still pounding.  He looks around, casing the room.  Hardison is the one holding him, his worried face hovering above Eliot.  

            “Alec?”

            “Yeah, Eliot, it’s me.”

            “We gotta get out of here.”  Eliot says.  “I don’t know when they’re coming back.”

            “We’re safe.”  Hardison says.  He pulls Eliot so he’s sitting up and propped against something.  “Look around.  We’re at a casino in Vegas.  We’re pulling a job, remember?”

            And Eliot does remember.  He remembers all too clearly.  “Shit.”  He says.

            “Yeah.”  

            “I - I need space.”  Eliot pushes himself up, grabs his crutches and heads for the door.  His head is pounding.  He can’t believe he had another flashback.  God, how weak can he get?  Not only can he not help the team, but he’s falling to pieces in front of their eyes.  

            “Eliot.”

            “What?”

            “Do you really?”  Eliot pauses, turning back to Hardison.  The other man puts a hand out.  “You don’t have to hide from me.”  He says quietly.  “When I said I love you, I meant every damn part of you.  You know that, right?”

            And Eliot - Eliot didn’t know that.  Or didn’t believe that.  Unconditional love isn’t something he’s felt in a very long time, and he’s really not sure what he’s supposed to do with it.  Maybe Hardison is just saying it.  But a voice at the back of his head, the one that wants to believe that there’s still some goodness in the world, tells him Hardison wouldn’t do that.  

            “I’m broken.”  Eliot’s chin trembles.  A single tear drips down his cheek.  He swipes at it angrily.

            “Me and Parker, we don’t care.”  And  that may be the best thing Hardison could have ever told him.  He didn’t try denying it, because Eliot _is_ broken, broken into millions of jagged pieces that only careful hands could try and put back together.  And maybe a thief and a hacker are the perfect people to pick up those sharp, fragile pieces.

            Eliot manages - well, not a half-smile, but at least a quarter of one.  “You’ve got to get them all back safely.”  He says.  They both glance at the screen.  Sophie is perfectly fine - of course she is.  The guard’s slumped on the floor, Shelley standing over him.  Sophie’s gesturing as if arguing she could have dealt with him herself.  “I need a shower.  Come see me when you’re finished?”

            “Yeah.”  Hardison looks like he wants to say something else, something _more_ , but he doesn’t.  

            Eliot tries not to think until he’s alone.  He’s sharing the suite with Hardison and Parker.  Their stuff is strewn all over.  Parker’s got a rig hanging from the curtain rod and Hardison’s computer crap is covering the dresser.  Eliot shrugs off his clothes and steps into the shower.  He has to stand funny so he doesn’t get his injured leg too wet.

            He doesn’t bother to turn on the hot water.  The blast of freezing cold water is normally enough to jolt him the rest of the way out of a flashback.  It’s what he’s always done, in the past, when there was no one else to help him.   

            Today, though, the icy water doesn’t help.  It just reminds him of how fucking cold the warehouse was, the nights he spent shivering, too cold to even sleep.  He starts to lose ground, starts to slide back into the flashback.  Only this time it changes, taking him from the warehouse to a cold night in Moscow, to an alleyway that had seen more members of the KGB than it had homeless people.  

            Gianna’s there, stepping out of a car, wearing those shiny black heels of hers.  She takes in the scene around Eliot.  “I said all of them.”  She snaps, and Eliot turns to look at the kid who can’t be more than sixteen, mixed up in something he never should have been in the first place.  

            Time passes.  Eliot falls from one memory to another, unable to do anything to stop them.  He’s faintly aware of the fact he’s banging his head against the shower wall, trying to get the memories to stop.  They don’t.

            “Holy shit, Eliot, what are you doing?”  Hands are grabbing him again, pulling and tugging until he’s stumbling out of the shower and collapsing onto the bathroom floor.  “Parker, get me some towels.”

            Eliot looks up.  It’s Hardison, of course it is.  “Alec.”  He croaks out.  “Trying - trying to get out of my head.”  

            “You looked more in your head than I’ve ever seen.”  Hardison wraps a giant towel around Eliot.  “Fuck, you’ve got a nasty bruise.”  

Fingers gently prod a spot on Eliot’s forehead.  He winces a little.  

            “Trying to make it stop.”  Eliot says.  

            Hardison is kind enough not to point out that his methods clearly don’t work.  “You’re freezing.”  He says, and that’s when Eliot realizes his teeth are actually chattering.  “Parker-”

            “Hot chocolate.”  Parker’s voice says from somewhere above them.  “On it.”

            “Think you can stand?”

            Eliot nods.  Hardison helps him to his feet for the second time that day.  He even finds clean clothes for Eliot, handing him sweats and a flannel shirt.  Eliot’s grateful for the warmth they provide.

            About the time Eliot finally makes it to the couch and Hardison has finished being a mother hen and tucking blankets around him, Parker shows back up with three mugs of hot chocolate.  

            “Don’t need to fuss over me.”  Eliot says.  Hardison fixes him with a _look_ , one that Eliot knows he learned from Nana.  

            “Do you know how long you were in the shower?”  Hardison asks.  

            “A few minutes?”  
            “Try close to an hour.”  Hardison says.  Eliot’s stomach drops.  He had no idea he had lost track of reality so badly.  No wonder he’s so cold.  No wonder Hardison’s so flipped out.

            “Fuck.”

            “Yeah.”  Hardison agrees.  

            Parker snuggles in next to Eliot, dangerously close to jostling the hand that’s holding his mug of hot chocolate.  “That’s what you used to do.”  She says.  It’s not a question.  It’s just Parker confirming a theory.  

            “Yeah, it is.”  Eliot agrees.  “Used to work, too.  Guess I’m even more messed up than I thought.”

            “No.”  Parker says, like it’s just that simple.  “You’re healing.”

            Eliot takes a deep breath.  “Guess I am.”  He pauses.  “Too slowly.”

            “No, you need time.”  Hardison says firmly.  “The shit you went through back in that warehouse - I mean, Quinn was rattled.  You don’t heal overnight from something like that.”

            “Yeah.”  Eliot says.  He knows that, deep down, but he never had the time to heal slowly.  Not if he wanted to survive.  No matter what went down the night before, he had to be 100% by the next morning.  There’s no way he’d still be alive otherwise.  This is the first time someone has told him he needs to take the time to get better.  He doesn’t know if he likes it or not.

            But then Parker props her chin on his shoulder and nuzzles her face into his hair, and Hardison reaches out and laces their fingers together, so maybe it’s okay.  

            “Come on.”  Hardison says when they’ve all finished their drinks.  “You need rest.”

            Eliot wants to argue, wants to point out that it’s barely eight.  He doesn’t.  He’s realizing that Hardison is as freaked out as Eliot is broken right now.  He’d do anything to make him feel better.  Eliot hobbles his way towards the bed, where Hardison makes sure he’s covered by blankets.

            Eliot can feel the other man’s uncertainty.  “Come on.”  He says.  “Keep me warm?”

            “How is it,”  Hardison asks as he climbs into bed, “that you manage to make nearly everything you say into a pickup line?”  
            Parker giggles.  She appears on Hardison’s other side, propped up on his chest.  “I like pickup lines.  Especially when Eliot says them.”

            Eliot manages a smile.  “Anything for you.”  And he means it.  Maybe it sounds too serious.  That’s okay, because Parker flashes him one of her smiles, the bright one that radiates pure joy.  He likes that smile.

            “You should sleep.”  Hardison’s got that concerned look on his face still, his forehead all creased.  

            “Can’t.”  Eliot shakes his head.

            “You look exhausted.”

            Eliot looks away.  “It’s not that.”  He mumbles.  “I’m - afraid of bad dreams.”  He’s never admitted something like that out loud before.  God, he sounds weak.

            “But we’ll be right here.”  Parker says.  “Oh!  I have an idea.”  She rolls off the bed, landing on her feet without a sound.  Moments later, she’s back, leaning over Hardison to give Eliot the worn, tattered bunny she still takes with her everywhere.

            And Eliot sorta feels like the Grinch when his heart swells up.  Parker’s never, not once, let anyone even touch her bunny.  “Thanks, Parker.”

            Parker nods.  “You might still have bad dreams, but my bunny will help you feel safe.  You’ll know as soon as you wake up that you’re in the present with me and Hardison.”

            Eliot smiles.  “You’re a good person, Parker.”

            “I want you to feel better.”  She responds.  She smiles at him, a sweet, soft smile that makes Eliot think of every time the three of them have had each other’s backs.  

            “Thanks.”  Eliot doesn’t remember when he stopped thinking of Parker as weird and started thinking of her as just right.  It doesn’t really matter, though.  Parker always has been able to make him feel happier.  

            Eliot pushes himself up a bit, so he can lean over Hardison and kiss her.  It’s the first kiss they’ve shared that isn’t adrenaline fueled.  It’s short and sweet and edges just a little bit on something more.  When they break apart, he realizes what he’s done.

            “I, uh-”

            “Just kiss me and we’ll be even.”  Hardison says, and he’s not joking.  So that’s what Eliot does.  He hears Parker’s little sigh as his lips meet Hardison’s.  Then he’s consumed by the softness of Hardison’s lips and the strong arm that’s wrapping around his torso.  Kissing Hardison is world’s apart from kissing Parker.  Parker kisses like she’s daring him to do more.  Hardison’s kiss is a promise of safety.  Both are perfect.

            “You two.”  Eliot says.  He flops back on his pillow, his head spinning.  “I don’t know how I got this lucky.”

            “Don’t question it.”  Parker advises.  “We like kissing you.”

            “I like you.”  Eliot responds.  He can barely keep his eyes open.  “You’ll stay with me?”

            “Hell, we’ll even tell you a bedtime story.”  Hardison jokes this time, but Parker seems to light up at the idea.

            “I’ll tell you about the time I stole the Queen of Denmark’s crown.”

            So Eliot falls asleep listening to Parker tell her story and Hardison’s hand gently running through his hair.  

 

\-------

 

            “The casino owner is in deeper with Moreau than we thought.”  Nate says, frowning at a set of blueprints.  Parker is seated across from him, occasionally pointing out access points that only she would be able to get through.  

            “How so?”  Eliot asks.

            “It looks like he owes a very big favor to Moreau.  I think with Moreau out of the picture, Gianna’s planning on cashing it in for herself.”

            “You don’t want to owe a favor to Gianna.”  Eliot says.  

            Nate turns his frown onto Eliot.  “Why?  What really makes her so much worse?”

            Eliot snorts.  “You serious? I told you, she does this because she likes it.”

            “I steal because I like it.”  Parker offers.  “How is that different?”

            “You don’t like hurting people.”  Eliot says.  “Gianna takes pleasure in ruining the lives of people who don’t deserve it.  We go after people for a reason.  She does it because she feels like it.  It’s different.”

            “Yeah.”  Parker agrees.  “I guess it is.”  She frowns down at the blueprints.  “What if we use the casino owner?”

            Nate pauses.  “How?”

            Parker’s eyes light up.  “We fake his death.”   

Nate sighs. “Isn’t this job complicated enough?”  
            Parker shrugs.  “It would work.”

            Nate looks back down at the blueprints.  “It would get us access.”  He muses.  

            “You’re seriously considering faking a guy’s death for - wait, no, of course you are.”  Sophie sighs.

            “We already faked yours.”  Nate reminds her.  

            “I’m a professional.”  Sophie says.  “You have no idea what this man may do.”

            “You showed up at your own funeral.”  Nate reminds her.  “I think we can handle whatever the casino owner does.”

            Sophie shrugs.  “I needed to see who would show up.”  She says, her standard answer whenever someone brings it up.

           

\-------

 

            It’s the early hours of the night-turning-into-morning, the time of day when the last stragglers are stumbling out of nightclubs and gamblers are drinking away their sorrows.  The owner of the casino is leaving for the night after celebrating his wife’s birthday.  A figure steps out of the shadows and fires a single shot.  Screams echo through the lobby.  It’s not long before the ambulance shows up, and then the police.  The ambulance rushes off.  Witness statements are taken.  Eventually the police leave too, and the pool of blood is mopped up. Life goes on.  

            No one has to know that Hardison’s behind the wheel of the ambulance, driving it to the airport, not the hospital.  No one has to know that the casino owner and his wife will soon be enjoying a relaxing cruise through the Bahamas.  The newspapers will still blast out their headlines that the owner of the Venetian has been shot.  Maggie - in her true grifter debut - will emerge from the hospital, shrouded in black and dabbing away tears, to announce her husband is dead.  

            Gianna will see the news when she wakes up the next morning, see a news anchor standing in front of the casino telling the story in a somber voice.  She’ll call in one of her men and tell them to move up the date of the exchange.  It’s going to happen today.

 

\------

 

            “The exchange is happening today.”  Hardison says.  “We’ve got one shot at this.”

            Parker hums.  “Do I finally get to rob the casino?”  

            Nate nods.  “Maggie, are you ready?”  He asks.  

Maggie takes a deep breath and nods.  She’s going to get Parker access to the vault, claiming that her husband left something valuable there for her.  

            “McSweeten is on speed dial.”  Parker adds.  “He’ll be here as soon as we finishing framing Gianna.”

            There’s a steady beat of excitement in the air, of a group of thieves about to do what they do best.  Eliot, not for the first time, is annoyed that with his bad leg, all he’s going to be able to do is sit around and watch what could be the biggest heist the team ever pulls.  And it’s all for him.  He’s never going to be able to properly thank his friends.  

            Hardison leaves first.  He kisses Eliot and ignores Sophie’s questions.  Parker, not one to be left out, kisses Eliot too, tangling their tongues together.  

“We kiss now.”  She tells Sophie.

            “You kiss now?”  Sophie echoes, but Parker has already left the room.  Now Sophie’s eyes are on Eliot.  “It’s about time you figured that one out, you know.”

            Eliot groans.  “Yeah, I know.”  

            By mid-afternoon, Eliot is alone in the room and focused entirely on watching the security feed Hardison pulled up for him.  Maybe he should have been more alert to his surroundings, but he really wasn’t expecting the door to shatter into pieces and armed men to rush into the room.  He’s blindfolded and handcuffed before he can do more than stand up and swing a crutch at the closest man.  

 

\---------

 

            The woman standing in front of him is older than the last time he saw her, soft creases around her eyes that don’t make her look any less dangerous.  

            “You really thought you could walk away?”  Gianna asks.  She cups Eliot’s chin in one hand, her long nails digging into his skin.  

            “I did.”  Eliot says.  “Twice.”

            The grip on his face tightens.  “And yet here you are.”

            There is that.  “Yeah, well, I didn’t say I was great at it.”

            Gianna lets go of his face and smiles.  “No, you didn’t.  You will never be better than me.”

            Eliot shrugs - at least, the best he can given his current situation.  “We’ll see about that.”

            “Oh, there’s no need to wait.”  Gianna says, her voice all honey even though her eyes are narrowed and dark with anger.  “As soon as I find out what your little team is up to, you’re dead.”

            “You had me tortured for two months and didn’t get everything you wanted.  What makes you think you can figure anything out now?”

            “Because this time I have leverage.”  Gianna turns and motions to one of her goons.  He opens  the door and drags in -

            “Alec?”  Eliot’s voice cracks.  

            Hardison shakes his head.  “I’m sorry, Eliot.”

            “Not your fault.”  Eliot tells him.  His heart aches.  .  Gianna’s right, he really has failed.  He couldn’t keep his team safe - couldn’t keep his family safe.  And he knows what Gianna’s plan is.  No matter what he says or does now, he and Hardison are both dead.  It’s just a matter of who is going to get shot first.  

            Eliot lets his head drop.  He doesn’t want anyone to see the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.  It would have been easier to die the first time Gianna caught him.  He had been ready then.  Now, though - he had hoped they could’ve taken her down.  That hope’s been ripped away, leaving a gaping hole in his heart.  He doesn’t know what to do.  

            Hardison is slammed down into a chair next to Eliot.  He’s trying to act brave, Eliot can tell, but it won’t matter either way.  They’re both going to be dead soon.

            Eliot’s never felt this hopeless, felt this out of control.  

            “Now.”  Gianna says.  “I know you’re not an idiot, Spencer.  So here are your choices.  You tell me what I want to know, and I kill your friend quickly.  Don’t tell me, and I’m going to have my men torture him.  It’s up to you.”

            “Don’t.”  Hardison says.  “Don’t worry about me, Eliot.”

            And of course he’d say something like that.  Hardison always has tried to act braver than he is, stronger than he appears.  And in any other situation, Eliot might actually believe that Hardison was telling the truth.  Not now.  

            Eliot turns to Gianna.  “What do you want to know?”

            Her triumphant smirk is enough to make him want to throw up.  But he’s not about to let Hardison get tortured.  He may not have many choices left, but this is one thing he still can control.  

            “What was your team’s plan?  How were you coming after me?”  Gianna asks.  

            “We were trying to frame you for a robbery here at the casino.”  Eliot says, defeated.

            “Why?”

            “Because that meant you’d be in jail long enough for the authorities to find evidence of your other crimes.”  Eliot says.

            “They’d never find enough proof.”

            “Not unless I gave it to them.”

            Gianna’s smirk fades a bit.  It takes her a moment to pull herself back together.  “That would mean going to jail yourself.  You wouldn’t do that.  You wouldn’t want everyone knowing your secrets.  You’ve spent years pretending you’re a good guy.”

            “I’ve never pretended.”  Eliot says.  “I know I’m not one.”

            And maybe this - this was how his life was supposed to end.  Not in a gunfight or hand-to-hand combat.  Not in the heat of battle.  But with the knowledge - the gut-wrenching knowledge - that he would never atone for what he’s done.  That with his dying breath, he’d be reminded of all the ways he’s failed those around him.  

            That’s the way Eliot is going to die.  And he’s not okay with it.  But it’s too late now to make any changes.  Too late to go back and save the day like he’s supposed to.  He’s going to die and leave behind destruction and sorrow, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

            He risks a glance at Hardison.  He wants Hardison’s forgiveness and knows he doesn’t deserve it.  Hardison looks at him, though, his eyes soft with understanding.  

            There’s a crash before the door gives way, buckling in on itself and crumpling like it was made of paper and not wood.  

            “SWAT!  Drop your weapons!”  Figures in heavy combat gear and holding serious weaponry flood into the room.  

            There’s a sudden flash of movement, and Eliot registers the cold metal of a gun against the side of his head before he realizes it was Gianna who moved.  An arm wraps around his neck and pulls him backwards.  His hands are still cuffed to the chair, but Gianna’s strong enough to pull him until he’s blocking her entirely.  There’s no way to take her down without shooting straight through Eliot.

            Gianna’s goons have all dropped their weapons, and one of the SWAT officers has pulled Hardison to safety.  Eliot sags in relief, seeing that Hardison is safe and away from the danger of an unpredictable, trapped Gianna.  

            “Drop the gun and let him go.”  The SWAT officer in the front yells.  

            “As if.”  Gianna yanks at Eliot.  Her voice is barely above a whisper in his ear as she adds, “You’re going to die before I go to jail.”

            It’s like clarity suddenly strikes Eliot, as fast as a lightning bolt.  Hardison dies in Plan M.  But maybe Nate was lying when he said there wasn’t a plan where Eliot died in.  Maybe, because they had to come up with a whole new way to take Gianna down, they’ve moved onto plans where Eliot does die.  It doesn’t matter which one it is, because Eliot knows what has to happen.  He’s going to die, but he’s going to take Gianna down with him.  And that - that he’s okay with.  His team will be safe.  There will be no threats from Eliot’s past coming after them anymore.  

            “Shoot.”  Eliot says to the officers.  He’s calm.  He’s made his decision.  If he has to sacrifice himself to save his team, he’s going to do it.  What he can’t risk happening is Gianna somehow getting away.  They’re never going to be safe if that happens.  He has this one last card to play, and he’s willing to gamble his life to make sure his team stays safe.

            Nobody moves.  Gianna’s breath is heavy on Eliot’s neck.  She must know that there’s no good way out of this, but Gianna’s never been one to give up, never been one to back down from a challenge.  She got this far for a reason.  

            “Shoot.”  Eliot says again - pleads, really.  He wants Gianna dead, wants her gone from his life for good.  If that means that he has to die too, then so be it.  Maybe this was how he was always supposed to die.  Not from a fight or at the hands of a rival hitter.  Not in some dark alley where his body would be found, but never identified.  No, he was going to die the way he had first imagined dying: protecting someone else.  Sure, back then it was because he was in the army and that’s the sort of thing that goes through your head when you’re in the middle of a battle and pinned down with seemingly no way out.  But this - this was sorta the same thing, really.

            The SWAT officer pauses.  Gianna takes the pause to swing the gun away from Eliot’s head and point it at the officers.  Things slow down, almost to a standstill.  

            His life has never once flashed before his eyes, even though Eliot’s been at death’s door more times than he really cares to count.  It doesn’t flash before his eyes this time either.  Instead, he sees Hardison’s face, the sudden twist of panic and fear in his eyes.  Eliot focuses on the words Hardison is mouthing to him.  It’s like his heart finally rests when he realizes what Hardison is saying.  He closes his eyes, the faces of his best friends in his mind.  He’s ready.

            The bullet rips into him.  The force of the round knocks Eliot backwards, his whole chair tipping over.  The coppery scent of blood fills his nose.  Another shot rings out.  Pain is blossoming throughout his body, a familiar sort of ache that is just as much mental as it is physical.  His head slams into the ground.  Eliot’s vision is swirling, swirling, swirling into darkness.

 

\-------

 

            _Beep.  Beep.  Beep._

            “Again?”  Eliot says, because he’s getting sick of waking up in a hospital bed.  

            “You’re awake!”  Parker appears next to him.  “Sorry I shot you.”

            And that - that’s going to need some explaining.  Actually, a lot of explaining.  

            “You shot me?”  Eliot repeats.  “But - how?”

            “Keep your voice down.”  Sophie warns Parker.  “The cops are still asking questions about the whole thing.”  

            Parker just shrugs.  Hardison appears on the other side of the hospital bed and offers to help Eliot sit up.  He’s got a busted shoulder now, shot - apparently - by Parker.  At least it wasn’t Hardison with the gun.

            Once he’s sitting up, Eliot’s able to see Nate sitting in the corner of the room.  For a brief moment, he’s taken back to the early days when they were all sitting handcuffed in a hospital room.  Hopefully this one doesn’t take as much work to get out of.

            “I told them not to drug you too much.”  Hardison says.  “Not sure if they listened.”

            “Thanks.”  Eliot says.  There’s an IV in his arm again, but he’s not quite as grumpy this time.  “Can we get back to the whole being shot thing?  I’m a little confused.”

            “Plan W.”  Nate says from the corner.  “Things got a little heated.  I wasn’t planning on having you get shot.”

            “Good to know.”  Eliot says, and notes to himself to stop thinking Nate will ever think like a normal human being.  “Gianna?”

            “In custody.”  Nate says.  “The bullet went through your shoulder and hit Gianna.”

            “McSweeten turned up just in time.”  Parker adds.  “The FBI is investigating the casino robbery and the ridiculous amount of stolen diamonds they found in Gianna’s rooms.  Plus there’s the whole kidnapping you part.”

            “You shot me.”  Eliot’s not quite ready to let go of that yet.  

            Nate at least looks slightly remorseful.  “Like I said, it wasn’t the plan.  We thought we’d have time to get you to safety too.  When we didn’t, I had to improvise.”

            “And I get shot in plan W.”  Eliot says.  “Fuck, Nate, I’m going to be out of action for ages between my leg and now this.”

            “It’s worth it.”  Hardison interjects.  “There’s no way Gianna’s getting free, not with the amount of trouble she’s in right now.  Interpol may have been contacted already.  They’re interested in making sure there’s nothing left of what either Moreau or his wife created.”

            “That’s - that’s good.”  Eliot says.  He leans back against the pillow.  “That’s good.”

           

\------

 

            Two months later, he’s got a slight limp and his shoulder occasionally hurts when it’s about to rain.  The doctors say he’ll be good as new soon, though.  Right now, though, Eliot’s content with taking a little break.  

            As soon as he had been released from the hospital (more or less - he’d walked out when the doctors told him that things were looking better), he did what he should have done years ago.  Parker doesn’t know what she thinks about actually getting married, but she likes the idea of them officially being partners.  They all have rings now, and a California King bed that they share.  It’s enough for Eliot.  Actually, it’s more than he ever thought he’d get.

            Once Eliot could walk without crutches, they left Amy in charge of the brew pub and took a vacation.  An actual proper vacation, the type that has lots of laying around on sandy beaches and drinking tropical drinks.  At the moment, Hardison is grumbling about too much damn sand and Parker has an ever-growing collection of shells piled on the corner of her beach towel.  

            Eliot’s alive.  

The funny thing is, that’s not what he’s happiest about.  He’s alive, sure, but he’d been alive before.  He’s in love.  That’s - not new, not really, but it’s fresh and different and overwhelming in a really good way.  

            Vacations don’t last forever though, and they’ve only been gone four days when Quinn calls in his favor.  Something about the Honduran mob, which is apparently a thing.  And, well, none of them are very good at doing nothing all day.  So the vacation ends and work begins.

Eliot’s never been more happy.  

 


End file.
